


Sleep After Toil

by Sorayeth



Category: Ivar the Boneless - Fandom, Vikings (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorayeth/pseuds/Sorayeth
Summary: Ivar falls.





	Sleep After Toil

So, this is a tentative one shot from the show Vikings. I hope that it is not too horrible. Thank you.  
It was both oddly still, and yet, the air itself seem to hold the threat of an oncoming storm. Ubbe grimaced at the morbid thought, and reminded himself that he was simply inquiring on Ivar’s wellbeing, not invading enemy territory. And yet, he was motionless, lingering outside of Ivar’s chamber, too worried about Ivar to simply let him face whatever issue clouded his mind alone.  
Ubbe finally knocked, to announce his presence, and hopefully, drain away a bit of his brother’s venom.  
From somewhere in the room, he could hear Ivar’s cursing, hasty shifting of cloth, and then, Ivar’s curt, “Go away!”  
“Ivar, it’s Ubbe. I have heard that you have locked yourself away and you refuse to let anybody enter. I am worried about you, brother.”  
There was a long silence, and then, Ivar’s surly answer. “There is nothing to worry about, Ubbe. Go play nursemaid somewhere else.”  
It was the most gracious invitation to enter that Ubbe could expect from Ivar, and he took it with what grace he could scrape together.  
He opened the door, and ducked as something was hurled at him, heard the sharp twang and turned to see one of Ivar’s knives still quivering in the doorframe.  
Ubbe hid his dismay, and forced a smile.  
“You missed, little brother.”  
Ivar didn’t bother to rouse himself, but Ubbe heard the amused purr from Ivar’s bed.  
“You know I do not miss, Ubbe. We would not be having this conversation otherwise.”  
Ubbe ignored the remark. Entering the room no longer felt like he was coming to check on a sick family member. It now felt like foolishly venturing into the lair of a predator.  
“I have heard that you are ill, Ivar. Are you alright?”  
The flames danced merrily in their iron hooks, scattering flickering shadows against the wooden walls of Ivar’s chamber. Sometimes, agony muted other men. In Ivar’s case, it only burned.  
Bracing himself, Ubbe finally managed a patient and long suffering sigh as he edged closer to Ivar’s bedside.  
Ivar was buried under an impressive pile of pelts and blankets, laying on his back, with the thick bedding covering all of him except a clenched hand, and his pale, withered face. His dark hair was damp and mussed against his sweating forehead.  
Cautiously, Ubbe touched his hand, and called softly, “Ivar?”  
Ivar growled, and did not bother opening his eyes. He slapped Ubbe’s hand away, before letting it fall back on the bed.  
“Go away. Do you not see that I am sleeping, Ubbe?” Ivar spat, irritably.  
“You are awake, now, Ivar.. I have come to see how you are.” Ubbe took great care to keep his tone gentle, as Ivar groused something under his breath and tried to shift. He couldn’t swallow back the small sound of pain as he finally opened his eyes to glare up at Ubber.

“I am flattered by your concern for my welfare. It is very touching. Now, go away.” Ivar snapped.  
Ubbe folded his arms, worriedly. Ivar’s temper would never permit him to remain in bed like this.His concern only grew when Ivar narrowed his eyes in silent warning, as he suddenly yanked the bedding up to his chin. He reminded Ubbe of a viper preparing for a strike.  
“Ivar, I am your brother, and it is my responsibility to care for you. Now, tell me what is wrong.”  
Ivar winced, and indifferently tapped a finger against his covered knee, gesturing downward to his legs.  
“How blue are my eyes, Ubbe?” Ivar gave him a thin, bitter smirk, savoring Ubbe’s surprise at the question.  
“Your eyes are very blue.” Ubbe answered, raising an eyebrow.  
“And we both know what that means.” Ivar chuckled bitterly.  
Ivar’s face twisted before he managed to work his features back into that coy, broken smile.  
He pat the blanket, with a brittle chuckle that sounded like choking. “I fell, Ubbe. I fell, and something in my right ankle snapped.”  
Ubbe nodded and rose to collect himself. He kept his hands from shaking as he poured himself a cup of mead. When he turned to give Ivar a falsely bright smile of reassurance, he poured Ivar a cup as well.  
Ivar turned his head towards him, eying the cup with distain, as Ubbe held it out and urged, “Drink, little brother. It may ease you.” He managed to keep his expression placid and free of pity. He knew Ivar would have hated that far more than any pain.  
Ivar ignored the cup, and his brother as he huffed in annoyance and tried to turn away on his side.  
“So, you are hurt again. And you will fight and recover, as you always have.” Ubbe muttered. Ivar actually giggled, then. It was an ugly, fractured sound from deep in his throat.  
Patting Ubbe as if he were humoring a slow child, he demurred, “I am a cripple, Ubbe. A poor, helpless cripple. What sort of fate awaits a cripple, other than this?” Ivar’s last word was as abrupt and sharp as a whiplash, as he slapped his leg with an angry open palm.  
“Do not talk this way,Ivar.” Ubbe bent down, and clutched Ivar’s hand between his own, ignoring the way Ivar gave him a look of tight loathing.  
Ivar curled his lip at him, as he said, “It is bitter.”  
Ivar angrily shrugged off his grip as best he could.  
Ubbe obligingly let him go, but asked, “What is bitter, little brother?”

“This fate. Of laying like an old man in my bed. Of being a cripple..” Ivar spat the word.  
“Ivar, you must have a fever, because you are not making sense.”  
“I told you to leave, Ubbe. How much sense must you have to understand that I want you to go, now?” Ivar lay back, and closed his eyes, breathing heavily.  
Ubbe shook his head. “No, little brother. Not when you are like this. Let me see your legs. Let me help.”  
Ivar’s eyes slid open, as he shook his head. Groaning in pain, he managed to slowly turn on his side, away from Ubbe. It was as final as a door slamming.  
“Leave me alone, Ubbe. Go away. You cannot help. Just let me sleep. That is what I want.”  
Ubbe, by then, was at the end of his patience in trying to both appease Ivar, and gain some cooperation. It was no longer an issue of negotiating over a piece of cloth. It was now an issue of simply moving the bedding.  
And, Ubbe attempted to do so. When Ivar was still, Ubbe gently took a handful of bedding, below Ivar’s curled legs and tried to pull it free.  
Ivar’s reaction was immediate. Ubbe’s ears nearly rang with Ivar’s roaring deluge of explosive curses and helpless attempts to snatch the bedding back.  
Ubbe held the heavy cloth inches away from Ivar’s grasping fingers, not to be cruel, but to see what Ivar was hiding.  
Ivar suddenly twisted, and Ubbe heard the strangled whine from deep in his throat as Ivar struggled to sit up, flailing helplessly.  
“Put the blanket back! Put it back!”  
Now, Ivar was only covered by his thin tunic, and a flimsy sheet he managed to anchor around his limbs. Ivar’s fingers curled deeper into the remaining sheet, clawing out deep furrows around his knees. He gave Ubbe a look that reminded him of a wounded animal, before he hissed out a breath through his clenched teeth.  
Ubbe had had enough. Ubbe had seen Ivar’s legs unclothed, before, of course. But he never could get over the pale, obscenely twisted, folded feet, the clubbed, curled toes, forever rigid, and unmoving. Or the way his legs were shriveled and pale as gnarled branches, from being broken and misaligned during the harder times during their childhood. He expected nothing different.  
Reaching down to the heap of blankets, he shoved the bedding free, and brushed his fingers against the cold, sweating flesh of Ivar’s calf. His eyes narrowed when Ivar flinched at the touch, and suddenly looked up at him, his eyes huge.  
“Let go of me!” Ivar shrieked, as Ubbe gently ran his fingers against the twisted limb, grimacing at the sick heat and bloat that covered Ivar’s foot. He felt Ivar’s bone-deep shudder, the ripple of something hard moving beneath his brother’s skin, and then, silence, only broken by Ivar’s heaving, broken breaths.

“Ubbe, stop…” Ivar choked out, shaking his head frantically, his eyes suspiciously wet.  
“Ivar, I am sorry. It was not my intention to hurt you-“  
“You already have!” Ivar snarled.  
“My leg is broken. It hurts when it is touched.” Ivar whispered, as he angrily clawed at the tears trickling down his face.  
Ubbe reached for him, horrified by the reaction, and Ivar whimpered and tried uselessly to move away, as though he were burned.  
“Ivar, I-“ Ubber attempted, but Ivar was already swallowing back the sobbing, and his eyes burned as he hissed, “Leave me be. There is nothing that you can say. Just leave.”  
Ivar didn’t even have the strength to push away the gentle hands, that were warm and careful as they came to rest on his shoulders in silent apology.  
“I am sorry, little brother. It was not my intention to cause you more pain.”  
“Then why did you lay hands on me? When I’m already injured, and in pain?! “  
“I only wanted to look at your legs, Ivar. To see how bad your wounds are, so that I could care for you. You are my brother, Ivar. Do you not remember that?” Ubbe pleaded,  
Ivar was silent as he kept his rigid glare, and his lips thinned into a bitter line of loathing.  
“Leave me be, Ubbe. There is nothing to be done now.” Ivar whispered.


End file.
